


Noir

by hoesthetic



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Cheating, Drabble, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoesthetic/pseuds/hoesthetic
Summary: Sicheng is Prada, he is Armani and Tom Ford. He is Versace, Vetements and Gucci. He is the saint of all who desire to be as proud and as beautiful as him.Full of himself he walks down the runway.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [Noir](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcXT44mGzGw)

Sicheng doesn't belong.

He belongs to no one: no boy, no city or no change of weather. From Zheijang to Seoul and from Seoul to Tokyo, from Tokyo to Beijing. From sunshine to blizzards.

 

Sicheng adjusts, changes along with the surroundings, no sense of identity.

 

Who is he exactly? Sicheng has no idea but he can pretend. A man with long, skinny legs and raven hair, thick lips and a pretty face. Sicheng knows he is beautiful in the way he is fragile and feminine yet carries strength along with his walk and poses.

 

Sicheng is the rise and he is the fall. The blood in his veins shimmers in gold and silver, dripping down his skin from time to time. His eyes reflect glitter and unsaid words, chin up, arrogant.

 

You can't afford to be weak in the world he lives in. Sicheng is Prada, he is Armani and Tom Ford. He is Versace, Vetements and Gucci. He is the saint of all who desire to be as proud and as beautiful as him.

Full of himself he walks down the runway. Sicheng doesn't trip, he doesn't fall. He looks down to those who do just to hide the fact he doesn't belong.

 

Yuta is beautiful. He runs his fingers over Sicheng's jawline when he is on his knees, begging. Yuta looks down to him like Sicheng looks down to others. Milan is hot during the summertime and the sound of the AC humming in the hotel room is so loud. If Sicheng were deaf maybe he could concentrate more to the way Yuta is always so present and so real.

 

Not many things feel real anymore. The way he sips red wine in a bathtub worth more than most people's lives, Sicheng feels the forever. But this is better. Sicheng feels eternal, like he will never end.

 

"My pretty angel," Yuta whispers, coos and grabs Sicheng's hair.

 

Sicheng wants Yuta to ruin him. Wants him to make him cry so the eyeliner under his eyes will run down his cheeks and the lipstick tacky on his lips will bleed. Sicheng whines and tries to look pretty when Yuta slaps his cheek.

 

It stings but also causes a whole body shudder.

 

Sicheng's tongue is poking out, resting against his lower lip. His lips are wet of spit and his cheek is stinging, still. He loves the pain. Sicheng rests his head against Yuta's bare thigh.

 

When they had met, Sicheng wondered if he could maybe, potentially belong to Yuta. The older man had moved from Japan to China where they met, him being a promising makeup artist and Sicheng the rising star. It started with too long eye contacts and with the way how Yuta would run his thumb over his lips when he should have been doing his makeup.

 

But like with most of the things, Sicheng had found out that it just doesn't work like that.

 

Yuta has a boyfriend, a tall Korean man named Hansol. He is a tattoo artist, Sicheng learnt, and that Yuta belongs to him and vice versa. Sicheng is happy for them, he really is.

 

Again, Yuta grabs his chin and forces him to move his head away from his thigh, and makes him look up. Even for the lower angle, Yuta still looks so beautiful.

"Get up," his voice is dark and commanding. Sicheng swallows and gets up with shaky knees. Yuta is dangerous and Sicheng loves the thrill.

 

It's not like Sicheng loves him anyway. It's just the feeling he chases because Lord, he has felt so empty for so long. And Yuta brings him something that fine wine or fancy cigarette brands can't bring. He is addicting when he dominates, and blinding when he smiles. But it's certainly not love, Sicheng is very sure and convinced.

 

He is taller than Yuta but he makes sure to narrow his shoulders to appear smaller. He wants to feel small. Sicheng is the rise and he is the fall. He has to be both or it doesn't work.

 

It feels amazing, euphoric, to be a dirty little secret. When Yuta's lips meet his, they are wet and warm, he gets the sparks and wonders if it will last. Sicheng knows it won't, Hansol will eventually figure it out. The kiss tastes like cigarettes and narcissism. 

 

The silk sheets illuminate in the color of peaches. They are soft against his bare back, caressing and comforting. But Sicheng doesn't need comfort, he needs gold and he needs control. Yuta's fingertips are harsh against his naked form and Sicheng's body is an messed up artwork.

 

 

When Yuta makes his move to leave, Sicheng slips on a crimson bathrobe. It's silk, too, because he is a rich bitch and won't work with trash. Glamorous, a little bit broken even though he would never admit it. Sicheng walks him to the door. They can fuck in Milan or in Beijing, in New York or London. He gets the kicks because in a way, Hansol will never achieve that. Sicheng is there when he isn't and when he isn't, he is the first choice, the priority in Yuta's mind. Jealously is a nasty feeling, nastier than the taste of vomit in his mouth but again, Sicheng would deny both of those. The door shuts and Sicheng is left all alone with an aching body.

 

But you can't understand the elegance of an empty hotel room unless you're Dong Sicheng, the rise and the fall. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> .......... jesus christ  
>  hmu in tumblr @ [ makkeuga](https://makkeuga.tumblr.com/)


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